An Ocean Lullaby
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Emil (Iceland) goes on a trip that he has long awaited only to have the plane crash. Join Emil on his survival story through the oceans and perhaps learn the secret to life along with him. No pairings, human AU, survival story at sea.
1. Burning Elation

Strips of clear blue sky gleamed through the thick, milky-white clouds overhead. The breeze was warm and calm. It rustled the sea of emerald green grass around him. He lay on it, his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes pinned on the beautiful sky. Mountains towered up behind him. Once, many millions of years ago, they ripped through the earth like jagged spears ripping through cloth. Now time had passed so that trees could covered them like prickly pines of a rose. He shifted slightly, his loose shirt catching several blades of glass and stubbornly refusing to let them go.

Sitting up, he could see the rest of the land, Ahead of him was a silvery ribbon: a river. It surged through the earth and on the other side of it was his town. Houses stood erect and proud, throwing shadows down behind him where the sunlight could not touch. People swarmed around, carrying various objects and talking with each other in animated voices. He, a young boy in his ripe teenage years, stood up. He made his descent, barefoot, towards his house. His fine hair, the color of stars gleaming in the night sky, fell just short of his nape. His eyes were pale blue and his lips red.

When he reached his house he pulled open the backdoor and swung himself in; still warm from his trek out. Standing in one corner of the house was one of his relatives, a Finnish man with a round, cherubic face. His name was Tino. Tino turned to face the boy and grinned.

"Hello, Emil. I just got this," he held up an envelope and tossed it to him. Emil took it and ripped away the seal, pulling the letter out. In typed, Icelandic letters, he read it. Elation burst up in his heart and he help it up, crying in happiness.

"Yes! Oh, yes! Yes!" He cried and swung around, dropping heavily on the couch.

"What is it?" Tino said, smiling broadly at Emil's happiness. He was only visiting for some time and his little relative's glee was a sight to see. The boy was usually expressionless and stern. His lips and eyes rarely betrayed his thoughts.

"I was accepted by the school!" Emil said, in Finnish as Tino had taught him. "I am going on the trip across America! I can't believe it! My grades were high enough to get it and now my dream has come true." Emil ended, his smile still stretching his lips. He held the letter tightly in his hands, staring at it in awe and devotion.

Years he had spent working and scraping for the right to go on the field trip. He had little money for himself since his parents' untimely parting. He could not afford the trip that his school offered each year and was thus disappointed. But now he had proven himself worthy enough for the school to grant him a scholarship. The sweet, delightful taste of success after strenuous effort was delicious—just as how water tastes like after a very long and arduous run.

"Is it a plane ride?" Tino asked, approaching him.

Emil nodded and looked in the envelope; pulling out a plane ticket along with a paper listing the requirements that needed to be fulfilled for him to make the voyage.

"You better get started, then." Tino said, quite proud. "I'll tell your brother when he gets home. He'll be delighted to hear it!"

Emil bounded off the couch and tore through the requirements; stuffing the supplies in a bag and making note to make sure he did not miss any schoolwork.

The trip was set to take place in a month's time. By then it would be autumn. It would last for two weeks and they would return and have to answer some questions and such. The trip should take them from North America and then, on a plane ride, to three separate countries in South America. It would help with immersion students as well as widen their horizons education-wise. Emil had longed and dreamed for such a glorious gift to be given to him for years upon years. His heart quivered in his chest; threatening to leap out at any given moment and make a mad sprint away.

Later, when Lukas (Emil's brother) returned home, the news was sprung on him. Lukas congratulated and told him that he would return to Norway in that time and that he was proud of his little brother; despite being unable to see him very often due to various circumstances.

"I'm proud," Lukas repeated after dinner, finding Emil alone in his room. Emil was sprawled out on his bed. The house was still his, given to him by his parents along with a small fortune. His relatives often came to check up on the young man. Emil was a solitary creature anyway but he certainly didn't dislike the visits. His room had a high roof. Decorated on the walls were pictures of beautiful scenery, singers and bands he liked, maps, charts, and a single window showing a clear view of the mountains. He especially liked it when the snow fell and crisply froze to the edges like a picture frame.

Emil looked up from his book and smiled briefly. The happiness still poisoned his veins and his heart refused to slow down from its thundering.

"You will be safe, alright?" Lukas said his stern eyes and unsmiling lips drawn tight.

"Of course," Emil said, "I'll stick with my group and I'll call you whenever I can. Mother would never have let me on this trip, of course," he said lightly, and then cast his eyes back on his book.

Lukas approached him and patted his head awkwardly; trying to show affection but obviously finding himself incompetent of doing so. "There is still some time. I won't be able to see you off. I return home a week before. I'm sorry but you'll go to the airport yourself. I'll arrange for a taxi. You can handle the rest, right?"

Emil paused and began to agree slowly. The pressure of maneuvering around an airport to find his group was suddenly pressing and dangerous; but an adventure nonetheless.

That night, Emil stared out the window. The stars were strewn across the sky; hard and clear. They gleamed and cast down their beautiful light upon the earth. At the same time they were so dreadfully far away. The heavy darkness oozed between them, dripping onto the earth. The Northern Lights faintly danced in the distance, peeking up over the mountains' ragged tops. Emil shifted and closed his eyes. He dreamed of the tropics. He dreamed of sand so white that it burned his eyes. He dreamed of waves lapping against the shore; deep blue. On those shores he could barely make out the figures of people crossing and laughing at each other. In the dream he forced himself to look upwards and caught the sun's glare directly. It burned and his eyes hurt but he continued to stare until the blur faded away and he could see the sun's clear outline burning in the sky like a ring so hot it was white. Then he dreamt of nothing and slept easily, as he did for the next month until the night before his trip.

That time he dreamed again of the bright what shores and the searing sun burning into his eyes but so irresistible. He could barley look away. In that dream he reached up for it. His fingers were dim shadows consumed by light and knowledge. The last part came to him dreamily. He did not know why but he knew it was true. He curled his fingers into a fist and held that ray of light and knowledge tightly; fearful that he would need it.

The next morning he woke up and, dressing quickly, pulled his backpack onto his shoulder and went outside. He wore jeans and a shirt as well as a jacket and sneakers. They were the travel-wear trademark throughout most young folk of the world and he was unashamed to follow it. Early morning light seeped into the world over the mountains. Dew glistened on blades of grass and the clouds began to clear. Bruised purple still stained the other half of the sky. Emil stood before his house, watching the taxi drive up. He climbed aboard and the driver, a bony woman, greeted him and drove him away.

The world zipped by outside the windows. All of this seemed to have happened far too quickly for Emil. He felt dizzy with the rush and nauseated with the excitement. The sun crept over the edge more now, cutting into the blue and introducing a fresh, new day into the planet.

At the airport, Emil easily found his way through the chilled morning air and to his group. The three teachers were counting everyone and beamed at Emil, happy he could make it just in time. He placed his bag into the required place and watched it tumble away on the conveyor belt; ready to be placed in the belly of the ship.

Teachers hustled the group of twenty-some teenagers into the thick plane. Emil found his seat and discovered that it was next to a young, dark-haired woman. He greeted her and she looked over at him with a curious glance that turned polite quickly. She asked, in broken Icelandic, where he was heading. He said he was on a field trip and she said she was coming home from a visit in Taiwan and this was the last leg of her trip. She was exhausted but happy to come home.

"Coming home is always amazing, isn't it?" Emil said.

"Of course," the woman nodded.

Conversation died down and the two went off to their business. The teacher that accompanied Emil sat across the aisle and spoke to him some. Then that too fell away and he picked up a book and began to read and study. Afterwards he did various things that ranged from listening to some music to falling asleep.

He was dozing, dreaming of birds and his brother, when the plane jolted. He sat bolt upright and looked around. Terror was etched on every face. The seat-belt sign frantically blinked on. The plane jolted twice more. The stewardesses rushed forwards, trying to calm the passengers down while they, too, were in hysterics and horrified. Their heels clattered against the floors and the stewards patted down the overhead compartments. They feared that a piece of baggage could fly out and hit someone's head.

Emil felt his heart jump into his throat. The woman from Taiwan opened the window and found the world spinning around them and the black clouds becoming a blur leaping upwards. She closed her eyes and tears sprung forth, wetting her cheeks and pouring down them.

Emil gripped the arms. The plane jolted and lurched, rumbling and whining. The engines seemed to have malfunctioned and were screeching from somewhere inside the plane. The speakers came on and the pilots tried to communicate but their voices were drowned out in a peal of screams from the passengers. Many prayed, others howled. Babies cried and Emil felt terror and horror for them. They would not even live a full life because of this.

In moments the plane plunged into the ocean. Saline water splattered against the sides and the passengers started to stand up. The engine was not quite done yet. It burst into flame, as well, as luck would have it, and began consuming the rest of the vessel. Tongues of hot red lapped at the seats and turned them black. Many people were caught in it and turned black and bloody when it attacked them. They screamed for mercy or forgiveness. The fire surged onwards, eating up all in its path. Emil rushed to the front where a stewardess had deployed the emergency raft and sent it out. She ushered Emil into it, her eyes pinned on the fire. A peculiar look came into her eyes. She stared as though in a trance, looking unseeingly into the fire. She stepped forwards as Emil slipped away, clutching the sides of the raft and watching her step away. She seemed seduced by the flames and continued. Her lips vibrated in soundless words. The world was narrowed down all at once for her so that the main goal in life was to touch the pretty, hot red flames. Emil floated away into the evening sea, rumbling and restless. Waves pushed him upwards and tossed him. He found a life preserver, bright orange, and pulled it on. As he floated away he saw less and less of the burning plane. It became a fireball, roaring and then becoming silent. The screams inside were no longer audible.

That day, that fatal fated day, Emil was the only survivor.

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia_

_Emil = Iceland_

_Lukas = Norway_

_Tino = Finland_

_later characters may be introduced. Hope you enjoyed! There's more to come. _


	2. First Course of Action

Rocking on the turbulent waves, Emil cried himself hoarse. The fireball of a plane had long exited his line of vision, but the image still burned in his eyes. Saline water lapped up against the sides of the raft, some spraying and sticking to Emil. His jeans became soggy and clung to his legs. He brushed hair away from his face and looked, not at the horizon, but up.

There the sky was bruise and uneasy. Black clouds crowded around the center and threatened rain and storm. The sea itself rocked. Huge waves came crashing down in the distant, becoming dim echoes that lifted Emil up and caused him to tilt. He clung desperately, hiding his head away inside the raft. His feet, now without shoes and only half a shredded sock, felt some sort of smooth surface. Wondering what it was, for his mind was static and filled with fear and dread, he dismissed and altogether ignored it. He gripped the sides of the raft and the ropes until his palms bled and his fingers grew sore and stiff.

The ocean rocked on like this for hours more. Eventually on him with a peal of rain roared down that soaked him because he couldn't think straight enough to pull the tarpaulin over his head. His shirt stuck to his body and his hair became matted and crazy.

But soon the sun broke through the clouds and spread them apart, briefly. He raised his head towards the sky like a man who has not seen water raises his head at the sign of a drink. Warm sunlight kindled freckles on his cheeks and he breathed heavily. Now, that the adrenaline had pumped out of his system, he could feel the salty burn on his hand. He looked down at them. Red, stinging, hot gashes lined his palms. The ropes he clung to had faint stains of blood that had not been washed away yet. He rested like that, calming his racing heart and trying to ignore the pain. The ocean slowly became more amicable and now moved away from crashing to rocking like one might a baby's cradle.

He fell asleep like that, his chin tilted and his neck exposed to the burning sun. He dreamed of nothing but blackness. Blackness so deep and impenetrable he could hardly break his way free, crying out with a mute voice and strangling tears that would not fall.

Sharply, he woke up. Bolting upright he touched his neck and both palm and neck screamed in pain. The sun had burned him, invaded his skin and cooked it from top to bottom. It was red but not black. He could feel it so no nerve damage had been done. This relieved him temporarily. He feared now that the sea would splash up and wet his uncomfortable skin.

So he rose to his feet, balancing unevenly and wincing whenever the life jacket touched the tortured skin. Before him the ocean spread out, glittering and clear. It was thick, however, like a stretch of cloth going out into infinity. The sun caught in ripples and danced on them warmly. The clouds that remained were pink and orange, drifting in the sky like vagabonds. His feet were scorched under the raft but he remained mesmerized by the sea—captured by its savage and merciless beauty. He wished for company, faintly, but his needs were hardly of concern. He sat back down, leaning against the smooth surface on the other side of the box, marked with a red cross. He placed his hands before him, on his ruined jeans, and contemplated the events.

Only then did it occur to him the true reality of the situation. He was lost. Lost at sea, too, and in the middle of it. He was miles away from any relatives or humans, for that matter. Living ones, at least. Those on the plane had inevitably perished and now became meals for sharks. Their blood spilled into the ocean, red smoke-like clouds pouring out below. Charred flesh and frozen screams sinking below the waters. Sharks, hungry, drove through the ocean to bite and tear, happy for a meal.

These thoughts made Emil's stomach turn uneasily. In moments he, too, could turn into the food. He looked behind him at the box and felt it too precious to open yet. So, instead, he took of his jeans, ending up in boxers and scarred, bloodied skin. He folded his jeans, sorry to waste anything, and tore off his socks. The hot sun continued to beat down on him. He was pale. What he would have given to acquire a darker skin tone to survive the burning! Hastily, he took of the life jacket and put the cool underside across his legs. What remained of his jacket he removed and folded as well, setting it atop the jeans. He felt tears sting his eyes and tried to hold them back, trying to make the most of his seemingly hopeless situation. Swallowing hard he looked at his shirt and, finding it in decent shape, kept it so. Perhaps he could have taken his jacket and wrapped it around his head. He decided that was not a _perhaps _but a _must. _So he took it and wrapped it around his head like a hood, covering his eyes with shadow and making sure his burned neck was left covered.

He stood again to look at the sea, looking at it like a challenge. Still, tears sprung from his eyes that he could not control.


	3. The Box

There were several reasons that Emil abstained from peering into the box. They were (a) there might not be anything in it, (b) it might have too little and should therefore be left as a last resort, and (c) there could be something dangerous in it.

Emil, trying to refrain from peeling the burnt skin, watched the box.

In the past few days, he had lost count how many exactly, he had managed to build himself a net with the tarpaulin and collect himself a fish or two. But now there hadn't been any fish for ages and his stomach was protesting. He turned to face the horizon.

Endless sea, deep, endless sea was all he could see. The sun beat down heavily on it, creating scorching heat and itchy dryness from the salt. Several rainbow-colored fish slid below the surface. He looked down at them, casually dipping his fingers in and watching them come up. He tried to capture them that way but it was a fruitless chase. The sky curved overhead, like a globe, without a single cloud to obstruct it. No shade or protection was offered. Emil leaned back, his chest heaving from exhaustion and heat.

His thoughts drifted to his life at home. Surely Lukas had heard the news of the downed plane with no survivors. Surely he had mourned Emil. Surely everyone had dismissed him.

He rocked on the raft, his lifeboat, his only source of protection.

He thought of his mother.

No, not his mother, any mother, really. He thought of this mother's warm kisses and gentle hands. He thought of her beautiful smile and her eyes. He imagined someone cradling him as he drifted off to sleep. For now, the ocean was his mother. She rocked him gently to sleep, beamed down at him with the sun's radiance. The lapping of waves was her lullaby, the ocean's lullaby to him. As he drifted into a light doze, waiting for at least one tiny fish to leap into his net, he continued to hear the lullaby. The breeze, the waves, and the distant roar of life on planet earth all collected into a single, harmonious melody.

The sacred spirit of life itself had draped her protecting force over Emil. As he rocked he fancied he felt it. It was the sky, of course, bowing over him and giving all its life's riches to him and him only. He had survived thus far, he could survive a little more.

No, no, no! It was time to get up. It was time to knuckle down and survive

Understand, Emil? You have to survive. You have to go home and you have to see Lukas again, hug him tight, and never let him go. You owe him a lot, you know.

Emil lifted himself, his face pinching in concentration. He put on jeans, torn at the end to make shorts, and made sure to wrap a jacket around his pale shoulders and his fair head. He was not built for this, he knew, but what was there to do?

He pushed it open and found, much to his relief, that it was inundated with survival tools.

There was a pamphlet describing methods of survival on all terrains. There were canteens of water, pure, delicious water. He picked one up, tore it open, and downed it. He took another, and another, and a fourth. His stomach protested, but he dismissed that. He looked through the rest. There were (20) chocolate bars, (30) granola bars, (uncounted) canteens of water, several blankets and other fabrics, and several metal tools. He picked up two of the chocolate bars and shoved them into his mouth. The sweetness mixed with his salty tongue, welcome after the tangy taste of dried fish.

His stomach continued to protest. He had indulged too much. He bent over the edge, looking into the bright depths, and vomited. His throat burned with the effort and he sat back, trying not to watch his vomit trail away.

Now he knew to take things slow, no matter how hungry or thirsty he was.

* * *

_Sorry for such a short chapter_

_And thank you so much for the reviews! You're too sweet. _


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